My Maker
by KetchCullen
Summary: Bella is caught in a predicament she'd never thought of. Experience her transformation in a way no one would wish for on their worst enemy. AU


**Hi!!**

**I'm a third time story writer. This came to me on my way to a temp job -- I had nothing better to do then to write down my ideas and here it is! I have no idea where this is going, but lemme tell you! If I get some reviews on this bad boy...you better expect quite the 2nd Chapter. Let me know!!!**

**Twilight -- and everything that is -- belongs to Stephenie Meyer.**

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_Lurking _

There was a throbbing, aching pain in the bottom of my lungs. It felt as if there was a solid block of concrete placed against my chest. I couldn't breathe. I sucked in a deep breath of air, only to feel myself hiccup through the process. No matter how much I struggled for oxygen, it was never enough.

I brought my right hand to my neck, willing the breath to come into my chest. I squeezed hard against my throat, sucking in whatever I could find. A gentle wetness rolled onto my hand. I quickly reached for my cheek and felt shallow pools of tears slowly drying on my skin.

_I must be crying_, I thought as I regained consciousness. The air suddenly began to come back into my lungs, barely becoming the struggle I had just had seconds ago. I opened my eyes, nervous to see what I would find. The ceiling I was staring straight towards was white with small bumps covering the exterior. I recognized it immediately, reminding me of when I was a child, trying to stay awake in bed as long as I could, counting each individual bump.

I placed my elbows on the floor, trying to brace myself to sit up, but the pain I felt was too excruciating. I let a small call of pain slip through my lips, hushing myself immediately. There was no way of knowing who else was in the room – I could easily not be alone. I collapsed on my back, turning my head to take in the dimly lit room. To my left, I could make out a dresser, drawers opened, clothes rummaged through. My mother's necklace was dangling on the edge of the dresser, swaying back and forth, threatening to crash into the ground. A pair of high heels were neatly placed, side-by-side, slightly tucked underneath the dresser. A rocking chair in the far left corner. Although unoccupied, it rocked as if someone was just sitting in it. I stretched my neck further, through the pain, trying to see a better view of who else may be in here with me.

Nothing.

I take a deep breath, mustering all the strength inside me, rolling myself onto my front. In doing so, I hear the sounds of bone popping, causing a shiver to break out across my spine. That can't be a good sign. I reach my arms out, gripping at the hardwood floor beneath me, dragging myself towards the edge of the bed.

With each pull, I can feel the pain beginning to build. I silence myself in fear of what would come next. Keeping my eyes focused straight ahead, my cell phone begs me to reach it. Determined, I know this is my only hope.

I will my legs to help my arms, kicking and pushing against the hard wood. My legs slip, most likely from my own spilled blood, but I find the slip aids my arms in dragging my body closer to the phone. I hear my breath coming faster, deeper now.

My mind cuts to the scene that has brought me here. Fear. I'm clouded with the anxiety and fear from this isolated incident. I immediately disregard the emotion and focus on the task at hand.

_Now_, screams my mind,_ Do this now._ I yank and pull myself the mere three feet I have to go to get to my phone. I hear someone scream out of frustration, only to realize it's me. _I must get there now._

My fingertips reach the edge of the phone. Only an inch more and I can call for help. With my left hand, I press my wrist into the ground struggling for the strength. My first knuckle grabs at the phone as my left wrist continues to move my shoulder forward. My second knuckle wraps around the phone and I pull it towards me. I silently celebrate as I lift my head to see the keyboard. My head brushes against the bottom of the mattress – _I must have crawled underneath the bed._

I press the sequence of number I've memorized since childhood. My heart is fiercely pounding in my ears and I no longer can see my surroundings. Only three simple numbers.

My mind goes blank as I hit send. Suddenly, I notice the phone is swiftly moving away from me. I let out a shriek of disappointment, but realizing it's from the pain.

It's not the phone that's moving away – it's me.

I struggle to grab onto the slick floors, the bed post – anything. But the movement is so fast, I fail at my only attempt of survival.

In a matter of seconds, I'm flipped onto my back. Red fills my eyes from the pain. My mouth is gaping open with no sound able to form. I'm met with a stone cold face, mere inches from mine. At first, I cannot recognize it. My vision is blurred. I can feel myself losing consciousness. I can only make out the shape of a face with a cut jaw and bared teeth, the corners of the mouth in a slight upturn. This asshole was getting pleasure from this.

"I'm not done with you yet…" the monster sneered.

The voice is what did it. I knew exactly who this was. I remembered exactly what had brought me here. Images flooded my mind. I knew what had happened. I knew exactly what would happen next. And with the overwhelming pain, fear and now knowledge of what ensued, I passed out. I lost all consciousness staring into the eyes of my murderer. A man that I knew better than anyone else.

Edward Cullen.


End file.
